


Everything I Own

by Tarlan



Series: Puzzles [2]
Category: Murder by Night (1989)
Genre: M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-03-01
Updated: 1997-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone wants to take away everything that Kevin owns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Own

"It must have been a shock walking in to find everything gone."

"Yeah, you could say that." he snorted. "They even took the carpets. The neighbors must have thought we were moving out."

Kevin Carlisle scratched the side of his nose, his eyes dancing with mirth at the inanity of the statement from the Reporter seated next to him on the plush sofa. A quick glance around the lobby of the hotel where he and Carl had been forced to stay last night showed no sign of his lover but he turned his attention back on hearing the next question.

"It must have put a real dampener on this special occasion."

Carlisle laughed aloud this time but without pleasure.

"Somewhat. To be honest, it's not the furniture that upsets me most. It's the loss of all our personal items; Carl's medal of valour from Vietnam, his citations for bravery from the NYPD, photographs of friends, family... All irreplaceable."

"So what will you do?"

Carlisle shrugged. "Well, we'll have to spend the day replacing the essentials. Have to admit, the first stop will be for clothes."

A glance downwards brought instant understanding as the gesture highlighted the fact that he was still dressed in the same tuxedo he had worn to the prize ceremony last night.

"Have the Police any idea who did it?"

"No, but whoever it was knew who we were 'cos' they spray-painted an assortment of tasteless words across the walls."

"What sort of words?"

"The usual. Oh, what the hell, we were planning on redecorating. We'll just get started a little sooner than we expected. Anyway, I've still got the most important thing - Carl."

Detective Lt. Carl Madsen chose that exact moment to enter the hotel lobby but was instantly diverted to the reception desk to take a call.

"Hey, look, I hate to have to cut this short but I've got a lot to get sorted."

"No , that's fine. I'm pleased you could spare the time to talk. Once again, let me congratulate you for your Literary award." The reporter turned back to face the camera square on. "And to all you people out there. I highly recommend 'Puzzles'. The Book of the Year."

Martin Fuller allowed the smile to linger on his face for a few seconds more before issuing a 'cut' sign to his cameraman. He let the mike drop into his lap and faced Carlisle, his features settling into a genuine expression as the camera was switched off.

"So where is Carl?"

Kevin drew his attention back from the cameraman who was carefully stowing the video camera back into its case having already decided against revealing his lover's arrival.

"He's on duty."

Fuller shook his head as he began to pack away the mike, winding the lead to avoid damaging it. He was more than just a nameless reporter to Kevin Carlisle. They had worked as freelance journalists in Minneapolis before Fuller managed to break into television. Now he preferred to cover the Arts and Entertainment having little stomach for the gory details that accompanied the kind of violent crime that interested Kevin Carlisle and kept Carl Madsen fully employed in the NYPD.

"Hell, you'd think they'd give him some time off to straighten up the mess."

"It's a case he's been working on for the past few weeks - and you know how tenacious he can be."

"The Orange Tag Murders?"

Carlisle pressed his lips together as he considered how much he could reveal then realized it would be on the news by now. The killer had a tendency to call the Press soon after each murder.

"Yeah, they found another body."

"I don't know where these psychos come from but we seem to have more than our fair share here in New York. Well, I need to get back to the studio to get this checked in. I'll see you around."

Carlisle and Fuller shook hands with the warmth of old association but as soon as Fuller was through the revolving door, Carl Madsen drifted over.

"Saw your friend. Surprised he didn't stick around to ask me a few questions."

"I didn't let on you were here. Thought you could use a break from nosy reporters."

Madsen sat down heavily on the sofa and leaned back allowing his head to fall backwards. The front of his borrowed raincoat opened to reveal a tuxedo identical to Carlisle's.

"Bad?"

Madsen brought his head back up and nodded twice, his thoughts drifting back to the desolate parking lot with its gray walls and pillars and it's dim overhead lighting...

****

He pulled back the flap and grimaced as he gazed at the latest victim one last time. The muted horror still evident in the wide open eyes made his heart lurch. Even after all these years, he could not prevent the general feeling of nausea that rose as he stared into the face of another person whose life had been snatched away in a senseless act of brutality; this was the fourth victim.

He sighed deeply and allowed the flap to drop back. The official from the Coroner's office resealed the body bag and pushed the gurney away. Madsen glanced around the darkened parking lot piecing together a possible image of the events as uniformed Police Officers conducted a finger search through the murder scene. He had been there almost an hour and now was the time to pull in the opinions of his team.

"So what have we got?"

"Same as the others. He was grabbed on the way to his car." Nelson pointed to a dark Chevrolet standing alone near the edge of the parking lot. "The attacker dragged him into here, strangled and assaulted him. Then left his calling card."

Nelson handed over the orange tag sealed in clear plastic bag. It was the sort of tag that could be bought in any convenience store and was used mainly as a key fob.

"What about the assault?"

"The autopsy will confirm but this guy believes in safe sex. I doubt we'll find a drop."

"Even condoms aren't 100%."

"Sounds like the voice of experience."

Nelson backed away, hands raised, his eyes twinkling as Madsen turned a heavy scowl in his direction. Everyone in the Department seemed to know about his relationship with Kevin Carlisle. The incident with the Gay Cop Killer had pulled it all out into the open. In some respects it was fortunate he had spent the first few weeks following that incident recovering in hospital. He'd taken a severe beating before the cavalry had arrived in time to save him from strangulation. By the time he'd been released from hospital the Department had started a whole new campaign to promote a Gay presence within the NYPD, the idea being that these cops would better understand the nature of the large Gay community in New York. Madsen had been offered the opportunity to head up this new task force but had declined. He had worked hard to become a homicide detective and nailing the bastards who preyed on the weaker members of the community gave him a lot of satisfaction...

****

His thoughts returned to the present.

"Will you be able to manage without me? Nelson thinks he may have found something and I want to check it out while it's fresh."

Carlisle hesitated but then sighed and nodded his agreement.

"Sure. Do you want me to pick up some casuals for you?"

Madsen glanced down at his tuxedo and grinned, his affection for Carlisle shining in his dark eyes as he nodded his thanks then he squeezed Carlisle's hand before he pushed himself up from the sofa. Kevin Carlisle sighed again as he watched his lover leave but then dragged himself to his feet. The late fall morning had almost gone and he still had a lot left to do especially as the hours of daylight were disappearing fast.

****

Nelson's idea turned out to be a wild goose chase that took up most of the afternoon. In the futile hope of finding some shred of evidence overlooked earlier, Madsen spent another two hours at the murder scene directing a renewed search and then made his way back to the station. As he walked into his office he stared at the wall behind his desk. It was covered in a large map of New York with the location of each murder clearly marked. Photos of the victims and scrawled notes ranged around it, linked to each location by thin black lines. He sighed and moved around the desk until he stood directly in front of the map. Carefully, he marked in the latest location then stood back to see if any picture was forming. The murderer's MO was the first step towards stopping him.

Madsen thought about the Gay Cop Killings. On that case the killer had worked with a gang of like-minded individuals. All had hated both Gays and Cops yet Madsen wondered whether any of them would have gone so far as murder if it had not been for the anti-gay detective who handed them each victim.

A light tapping on the door brought his head around and he smiled as his ex-wife wandered into his office.

"Just the person I wanted to see."

"You look tired, Carl. Why don't you go home and get some rest. I'm sure Kevin needs some help sorting out the mess."

Carl nodded his head but Karen Hicks recognized the preoccupation written across his expressive features.

"Just one thing before I go. I need your insight. What we have here is a lone killer. He's probably Gay. All his victims were straight - as far as we know - all were sexually assaulted after being strangled. There's no sign of mutilation."

"I think he wants what he can't have. Perhaps he loves someone who isn't interested in a sexual relationship with him - or any man. The strangulation is a puzzle."

"Obviously, he doesn't want a struggle but an unconscious victim is just as pliant as a dead one... so why does he kill them rather than restrain them?"

Carl breathed in suddenly and picked up the phone.

"Nelson. I want you to pull any records where a male has been sexually assaulted after being knocked unconscious."

Karen raised both eyebrows. "You think he may have tried it without the strangulation?"

"As you said, the strangulation's a puzzle. There doesn't appear to be any reason for it - unless our boy's into necrophilia."

"Well, that's your _one thing before you go_. Now get out of here, Carl."

Madsen smiled, grateful that he had not lost the friendship of his ex-wife when he stole her lover, Kevin Carlisle.

****

As he entered their apartment, Madsen noticed the attempts Kevin had made to return some sense of normality to the place. When they had returned from the Literary Ceremony late last night neither had been prepared for the sight of those eerily empty rooms. Everything had been taken - and what could not be removed, such as the wallpaper, had been defaced. Madsen had never seen anything like it in all his years as a Police Officer and could only gaze in dumb amazement at the audacity it took to completely strip someone's home. He wondered how it could have been done without raising the suspicions of the neighbors but then remembered that, in New York, nobody questioned anything.

He moved swiftly to the bedroom, following the muffled sound of a television, to where he hoped to find his lover. The portable colour television - a loan from Karen - sat on an upturned crate on the far side of the room. It cast a strange flickering glow that periodically illuminated the graffiti-covered walls. Madsen noticed Kevin had put up some curtains; the large flowery print nailed to the wall looked totally at odds with the blue and white striped quilt purchased earlier in the day leading him to hope they were another loan. He had a feeling they would look completely hideous in the cold light of day but, for now, they were better than nothing for neither of them had any inclination to give the neighborhood a free view into their private life.

He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket, kicked off his shoes and lowered himself onto his side of the large bed bouncing slightly to test the springs. They had meant to get a new bed months ago but had never quite got around to it. The burglary had merely made it an imperative. Madsen made no attempt to figure out how his lover could have acquired the bed at such short notice but he expected there was now a big empty place in some department store show room.

Kevin leaned across and pulled Madsen close, his lips brushing across the sensitive mouth. His lover moaned in pleasure and forced his tongue into the other's mouth, teasing it's mate but he sighed heavily in annoyance as Carlisle pulled away.

"The News."

Madsen glanced at the small screen but his fingers crept beneath the pale blue tee shirt to caress his lover's hairy chest and he smiled as he felt a nipple tightened beneath the onslaught. The smile widened as Carlisle groaned in pleasure, his attention drifting away from the TV. Neither were that interested in the latest report on the Economy. The next story was as bad but Carlisle grabbed the fingers, holding them still as the local news report started.

_Police are baffled as the latest victim of the Orange Tag Murderer is found in an underground parking lot..._

"Are you baffled?"

"Pretty much so, although I've got Nelson chasing up another idea."

"Anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Depends. Can you keep a secret?"

Carlisle's attention zoomed back to the screen as he heard his own voice. Even Madsen stilled to listen to the interview.

_It must have put a dampener on this special occasion... Have the Police any idea who did it?... Anyway, I've still got the most important thing - Carl._

Madsen hugged Kevin as he recognized the depths of love shining in the light brown eyes when Carlisle talked of his lover to the media. The television was forgotten as mouths met in a hungry caress, tongues entwining. Carlisle rolled on top of his lover, trapping the slightly smaller frame beneath him as he continued the assault on his lover's mouth. He pulled away to gaze into lust-filled, dark brown eyes.

"I think it's about time we christened this bed."

Madsen grinned, his face lighting up. Thoughts of the latest murder slowly driven from his mind as Carlisle removed the already loosened tie and began to unbutton the white dress shirt. Carlisle tugged the shirt loose from the waist band and lowered his head to take one dark nipple into his mouth. Gently, he held the small nub between his teeth, sucking softly as the surrounding skin puckered. He let go and traced a path with his tongue across to the other side, feeling the tickle of soft hair on the almost bare chest. He smiled as hands clutched at his ears, feeling the growing arousal of his lover against him. Carlisle released Madsen suddenly and sat back on his heels. His eyes traced the tell-tale outline of his lover's erection as it strained against the dark suit material. In one swift movement he pulled his own tee shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor then he stood and slowly removed his jeans.

Madsen froze, mesmerized by the striptease as Carlisle kicked away the denim and let his thumbs hook inside the waistband of his briefs, toying with the garment and his lover. He watched Madsen lick suddenly dry lips, the pink tongue tip gliding across the slightly swollen mouth, the eroticism of the unconscious act not lost on him. He tugged down the thin material, smiling at the small inward gasp from his lover as his erection sprung free. Belatedly, Madsen noticed his own dressed state and moved to rectify the situation.

"No."

Madsen paused and gazed at the strong body standing over him. Carlisle moved forward and knelt on the bed astride his lover. He pushed the edges of the white shirt aside and then reached for the opening of the dark trousers. In tantalizing, small motions, he unsnapped the fly, lowered the zip and then urged the hips upwards so he could pull the trousers passed the firm buttocks. Madsen frowned as Carlisle left the material bunched around his knees and started to kick to force them off but strong hands grasped his hips, holding him still.

"Uh uh."

Carefully, Carlisle pulled the briefs over willing hips but lowered them only half-way down the strong thighs. He gazed at the evidence of his lover's need, then, still smiling, he lowered his head and licked along the length of the swollen column of flesh, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. His hands held the hips more firmly as he felt the body beneath him buck with the sudden stimulation. Light brown eyes danced with pleasure as he watched the reaction to his teasing tongue. He heard the loud gasp as his mouth descended to take the full-length of his lover's swollen flesh. The body thrashed, mostly in frustration as the material around his thighs prevented Madsen from wrapping his legs around his lover to hold his tormentor in place. Instead, he suffered the exquisite torture of light caresses as the mouth moved slowly up the length of his shaft to tease the sensitive glans and then down again with just the barest sense of pressure against the sides.

"Please."

Carlisle smiled around the thick, solid flesh and began to suck harder, his tongue darting across the top. He knew Carl couldn't last too long under this sort of stimulation and increased the speed, tasting the pre-seminal fluid that leaked into his mouth.

The body stiffened and Carlisle swallowed hard as warm, salty fluid filled his mouth. He carried on sucking, only releasing the softening organ once he had extracted every last drop from his lover. Carlisle kissed the tip and then worked his way back up the abdomen and chest until he could share the unique taste of his lover as their mouths met in a soft, hungry kiss. He released the lips and gazed lovingly at the satiated features then moved back down the bed where he finally removed the trousers and briefs. He didn't stop Carl from sitting up but helped him to remove the now crumpled shirt.

Carlisle reached under the bed and pulled out a tube. His lover smiled in anticipation as a generous daub of the slippery gel was squeezed out before the tube was resealed and discarded. Carlisle knelt at the end of the bed and pulled his lover's body up the incline of his thighs. He smeared the gel onto the tight ring of muscle, his fingers slowly dilating the opening. When he felt his lover was ready, Carlisle smeared the remaining gel along the length of his swollen shaft and pulled Madsen forward until the blunt end was pressed against the opening to his lover's body. He held the dark eyes for a moment, asking and gaining permission before forcing the head passed the tight muscle.

With a patience borne out of his desire not to hurt the other man, he waited until Madsen had adapted to the pressure then he plunged in until the length of his shaft was swallowed by the beautiful body. He paused again, feeling his own heart pumping madly with the need to thrust. Madsen had thrown back his head exposing his vulnerable throat and Carlisle grinned as he saw the manifestation of his lover's growing arousal. He drew back and plunged once more into the body, watching the other's shaft extend with the thrust, waiting for the moment when Madsen would add to the eroticism by taking his own throbbing organ and pump himself in time with his lover's thrusts. Carlisle didn't have to wait long and felt his own orgasm build as the hand moved faster along the length. His eyes flicked up to catch the look of intense concentration as they both sped towards annihilation. As he came deep within his lover's body, Carlisle watched the fountain of creamy fluid spurt from his lover to coat the sweat-slicked abdomen.

He pulled out his softening organ and collapsed across his lover's body. When he had the energy to move he crept up the bed and gathered the other man into his arms. They held each other in a strong embrace for a long time as their hearts settled back into a normal rhythm.

"I hope you remembered to buy a flannel."

Carlisle chuckled and kissed one delicate ear. "I suppose you're too exhausted to make it to the shower?"

"We've still got a shower?"

****

Raymond Wilcott sneered as he listened to the interview given by Kevin Carlisle on the late news and he barked a short laugh as the Interviewer ask inane questions:

 _It must have put a dampener on this special occasion... Have the Police any idea who did it?_ Wilcott froze at Carlisle's reply. _Anyway, I've still got the most important thing - Carl._

He looked around the well furnished apartment then jumped to his feet and stormed around the room. His eye caught a photo and he raised the frame to examine it more closely. A feral smile curved the corners of his mouth as he stared at the image. His finger stroked the smiling lips of Carl Madsen as he gazed around the room at objects that had so recently resided in Kevin Carlisle's apartment. It had taken weeks to plan and days to build his adversary's home in the abandoned warehouse. The siting of the furniture had taken most of the day but he had taken plenty of photographs to ensure everything was placed just right.

"So, all this is unimportant compared to having Carl. Well, I'll take him next."

****

Another four days passed during which Madsen put in long hours as he tried to piece together all the clues that would lead him to the Orange Tag murderer. There had been one small breakthrough but he was loathe to reveal this to the media. His theory that the murderer could have attacked before without killing his victim had uncovered more than a dozen unsolved cases but applying knowledge from the current set of murders he had reduced the list substantially. Unfortunately, of the two possibilities, one of the victims had since committed suicide after contracting VD from the rapist, which in itself gave Madsen one more lead; the rapist would have applied for treatment for the disease and further explained his use of a condom. The second victim provided the clue for why the rapist had turned to murder. This victim had only been stunned by the blow and had recovered sufficiently to fight off his attacker. However, he had been too shocked to take in any details of his assailant but had agreed, under duress, to undergo hypnosis to see if anything came back from his subconscious. The session was set for the following day.

The strident ring of the telephone pulled both men from a deep and restful sleep. Despite knowing only Madsen received calls at three in the morning, Carlisle reached over and snatched the handset from its cradle before his tired lover could react.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, Kevin. Sorry to wake you this early. Can I speak to Carl?"

"He's dead tired. Can't it wait till morning?"

"I wish it could."

Kevin sighed and gently shook his lover from the light doze he had fallen back into. Madsen rubbed the sleep from his eyes and accepted the handset.

"Yeah?"

"We've got another murder."

"Shit."

Having obtained all the details, Madsen hung up and threw back the covers. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he hissed as his warm feet made contact with the cold, bare floor. Carlisle watched as his lover pulled on the clothes he always had ready for Madsen had spent enough time as a detective to know the criminal community did not wait for a decent time of day before committing crimes. With a deep sigh of regret at leaving the warm bed, Madsen leaned over and kissed his lover before closing the door softly behind him.

****

The bitterly cold wind seeped into his bones as he stepped from his car and he pulled the collar of his thick coat higher. The flashing blue and red lights gave a discotheque appearance to the dreary neighborhood and Madsen gazed at the murmuring bystanders that had gathered to investigate the disturbance to their night's rest. He saw a few of the more inquisitive trying to sneak passed the thin, reflective tape that acted as an inadequate barrier.

"Eastlet. Keep those people back."

The uniformed cop rubbed his hands together, muttering under his breath as he approached the miscreants. Madsen wandered into the brightly lit alleyway.

"What have we got?"

"I dunno. Something's not quite right."

Madsen followed Nelson over to where the half naked body lay face down in the dirt. Nelson handed him the orange tag and watched Madsen frown. The tag was a different make from the others and there were a few other discrepancies.

"A copy cat?"

Nelson grimaced. "Looks like it to me."

"Shit. Just what we needed. Another psycho running around New York."

"Lt Madsen, we've got a possible witness. Some street Bum was in a doorway further up the alley but I don't know how much you'll get from him. He reeks of cheap booze and he refuses to talk to anyone except you."

Madsen sighed and nodded. He followed Eastlet back out of the alleyway after calling out a few more instructions to his men. The Bum was dressed in a coat that had seen better days with baggy trousers hanging from a too-thin frame. The scuffed shoes were wrapped with rags to prevent the cold seeping in through the worn soles. For Madsen, the smell of alcohol and rotting teeth brought back bad memories of the man who had tried to kill him almost a year ago to the day. He nodded to the two police officers holding the Bum between them and they released the man immediately.

"Are you the boss?"

"I'm Lt. Madsen, Homicide."

The Bum smiled. "His van. It's still parked over there."

The Bum pointed at the dark shape about two hundred yards away in the shadows. Madsen frowned as he followed the line of the dirty finger then looked around to see who was close by.

"Eastlet. With me."

The cop grimaced and followed his superior towards the dark shape. It wasn't that he disliked Madsen but he felt uncomfortable in the man's presence. Madsen was so normal, far from the stereotype Gay image that he had formulated from an early age. If no-one had told him then he would never had guessed Madsen had taken a male lover.

The Bum hovered close by as they wandered towards the van, service revolvers gripped in cold fingers, ready for any eventuality. They could see no unusual man-size shapes in the surrounding shadows so Madsen replaced his gun in its holster beneath his left armpit and peered into the dark interior. Nothing. He tried the door handle and glanced at Eastlet as the door swung open. He leaned inside.

"Hey!"

Madsen drew back at the cry and stared in frustration as Eastlet started to chase after the Bum who had grabbed the uniform cap from his head. He shook his head in annoyance and wandered towards the back of the van, his attention fully on the racing figures as he watched Eastlet and the Bum turn the corner. The hand that snaked out from behind caught him totally by surprise. He smelled chloroform as a thick wad of material enclosed his mouth and nose and he tried to struggle against the arm that held him in an iron grip. His last sight as he slipped into unconsciousness was of the fairground lights of blue and red flashing in the distance.

****

Carlisle frowned at the sound of a knock on the door. He pulled the dressing gown belt more securely around himself and opened the door.

"John?" The frown faded as fear entered the light brown eyes. He opened the door further and stared out into the empty hallway. "Where's Carl?"

Captain Reynold's lips tightened in sympathy. He had seen this same reaction too many times in the past. "Can I come in?"

Carlisle gazed at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, his heart frozen in terror for the words that were to come. He stepped aside as John Reynold entered the apartment then followed him into the bare lounge. Reynold glanced around the stripped room, tears welling in his eyes as he realized how much Kevin Carlisle had already lost and then he pushed the thought away. They had no proof Carl Madsen was dead. There was no blood, not even the sign of a struggle. He kept that thought uppermost in his mind as he sat down on the old, overstuffed couch that had been loaned to the couple. Carlisle asked if he would wait until he had pulled on some clothes. He felt too vulnerable in the dressing gown, needing the flimsy armor of jeans and tee shirt to protect him from the words he had already allowed to run riot through his head. When he returned to the lounge he found John had been busy making strong black coffee.

"Kevin. Carl disappeared from a murder scene while checking out a van parked close by. There's no reason to believe he's dead."

"Why didn't he have someone with him?"

"He did but the officer was tricked into leaving him on his own. We're questioning a Bum at this moment. He was given 20 bucks to get Carl over to the van and then lure anyone accompanying him away. He gave us a description. I want to know if this rings any bells: Caucasian male, dark hair, thin faced, rat-like, about 6ft. We think he committed a copy-cat murder to lure Madsen to the scene..." Reynold stopped in mid-sentence as a frown creased Carlisle's face. "Something come to mind?"

"Raymond Wilcott. He attacked me with a hammer when he found out I was a witness to one of the Hammer murders. I genuinely thought he was the real killer until another murder took place while he was in Police custody. At the court hearing, before they took him away to be institutionalized, he threatened to 'take back his life'. He accused me of having stolen it from him."

Carlisle gazed around the stripped room and his eyes widened as he remembered his words in the interview several days before.

_Anyway, I've still got the most important thing - Carl._

"I thought he was referring to my part in putting him away but..."

John Reynold noticed the gaze around the bare room and instantly came to the same conclusion. He leaped up and grabbed the phone. Moments later he relayed instructions to his subordinates and placed the handset back into its cradle.

"They're looking into it. They'll ring back as soon as they find anything."

Silence descended. Despite being friends ever since the time Reynold had added his own coat to cover the naked and bloodied body of Carl Madsen after the Gay Cop killings, neither could think of anything to say that could fill the time while they waited for the phone to ring. Carlisle jumped at the strident sound but allowed Reynold to snatch the phone.

"Uh huh... Yeah... When?... Put out an APB."

The steel in his pale blue eyes told Carlisle everything but he waited for an explanation.

"Wilcott was released from the Institution several weeks ago; the advantages of having a very rich and very important family. I don't know about the Orange Tag murderer but I think we have our copy cat. We showed a photo to that Bum and he confirmed Wilcott is our man."

"And Carl?"

"I'll lay a bet he hasn't hurt Carl. If he wanted to destroy everything you owned then he would have torched this place instead of taking everything. Also, he wouldn't have taken Carl. He would have killed him and left the body behind. You said he accused you of stealing his life. Well, it looks like he may have taken it back."

****

As the chloroform wore off, Madsen blinked to help focus his eyes on his surroundings. He frowned and wondered whether he had just awoken from a particularly bad dream as he recognized the apartment he shared with Kevin Carlisle. The furniture that had been stolen was placed exactly as he remembered. Everything was identical, even the wallpaper. He reached to rub the last of the sleep from his eyes and was startled completely awake by the sudden restriction. One glance at his wrists filled him with dread. He was secured to the brass bedstead with his own handcuffs and he was naked beneath the heavy duvet. He turned his head as the door opened, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the man who walked across the room.

"Raymond Wilcott."

Wilcott smiled, pleased the detective remembered him and planted himself on the side of the bed. He reached out and tried to run a finger down the side of Madsen's face but the detective pulled away in disgust. Wilcott merely smiled and then his eyes flicked towards the door.

"I've brought you something to eat."

A more pointed look indicated the tray he had left on top of the cupboard by the door. The thought of food reminded Carl that he hadn't eaten since the previous evening but he didn't speak as Wilcott left the bed to fetch the tray. He placed it on the beside cabinet, smiling as his hostage glanced towards the food before returning to stare into his captor's face.

"What do you want with me?"

"Want with you? Why nothing - and everything. You belong to me now. You're mine."

"You're mad. I don't belong to you."

The feral grin reached the dark eyes. "Oh, you're wrong. You're so wrong."

The grin widened as Wilcott pulled back the cover.

****

For Carlisle, the rest of the day passed as if it were part of a nightmare. He waited in the apartment, too afraid to leave in case Raymond Wilcott should phone to gloat over his latest acquisition. As the evening wore on he crept towards their new bed, too drained of energy to resist the call to sleep. The cold sheets stripped away the final vestige of warmth remaining from the memory of the hot body that had so recently lain by his side. Instead, he lay in the darkness listening to the sound of the duty police officer who had been sent to watch over him.

Earlier, he had found himself hugging Karen tightly as they tried to comfort each other. His thoughts drifting back to the last time in the hospital where he had waited for the surgeon to tell him whether Carl would live or die. They had comforted each other on that occasion too.

"Why Carl? Why not me?"

His voice seemed to echo around the empty room and he closed his eyes, hoping he would fall into a dreamless sleep. At some time during the cold, lonely night he finally slept but his dreams were filled with laughing dark brown eyes and gentle fingers that burned as they glided across his skin. He awoke to find himself painfully erect and his soul cried out for the lover who would have rocked him to a satisfying climax.

John Reynold grimaced in frustration. He had hoped Wilcott would have phoned by now but the only calls had come from friends offering their support.

"He's not gonna phone." Reynold stopped pacing and glanced down at the seated figure. Carlisle held the questioning blue eyes for a moment before continuing. "He doesn't need to. He's got everything he wants. He's got my life. He's got Carl."

Reynold looked away from the tormented gaze and his eyes were captured by the shining statuette standing on top of another old crate. He frowned.

"No. He doesn't have everything."

Carlisle followed the gaze until it fell upon the gold-plated figurine of Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry, and for the first time since learning of Madsen's disappearance, hope lifted the corners of his mouth into a smile.

****

Wilcott raged around the room, ripping out drawers and smashing ornaments as the anchorwoman moved onto the next story. No. He *had* everything. He had all the belongings, all the furniture. He had Carl. His memory returned to the news broadcast. The expression on the face of the statuette no longer appeared scholarly - it appeared knowing. The line of the mouth mocked him, the eyes held him in contempt. He had forgotten the prize for his book. Puzzles - the book of the year. Wilcott dropped to his knees in exhaustion as his unbalanced mind recalled the one other possession Carlisle had that should have been his. Recognition.

He rose from his knees and strode into the bedroom to stare at the figure lying on the bed. Purple bruises marred the side of Madsen's face where Wilcott had hit out after being spat on. The bruising continued down the firm body in stark contrast to the soft, pale skin. His eyes made out the individual marks where each of his fingers had dug into the vulnerable flesh over each hip bone. Working back up the unconscious body, he noticed the streaks of blood where the skin had been rubbed raw against the handcuffs as Madsen had struggled against him. This wasn't what he wanted. There had been no satisfaction in trying to take Madsen - and no success.

Wilcott moved back into the lounge and gazed at the typed manuscript he had found in Carlisle's apartment. It was the final draft for a new book that he intended to have published under what he believed was the true author's name - Raymond Wilcott. He picked up the manuscript and threw it across the room, watching as the loose leaves floated to the ground in a snow-storm of white paper. A crazy thought stabbed into his mind and he went back to the bedroom. He stood in the door frame staring at the unconscious figure as a plan formulated in his deranged mind.

****

Gingerly, Carlisle picked up the envelope after taking the precaution of pulling on plastic gloves; Reynold had told him to treat any unusual mail in this fashion for, if the letter turned out to be from Wilcott, then there was a very slight possibility of tracing it back to it's sender. He unsealed the envelope and pulled out the folded white sheet. Carlisle recognized the typeface; it had been typed on his own machine. He read the words twice through before handing it over to Reynold.

John Reynold rubbed a hand through thick, graying hair before handing it over to Nelson. The dark-skinned detective smiled. Their prey had fallen for the bait. All they had to do now was spring the trap.

****

The media were more than willing to play their role. Several networks sent cameras and reporters to cover the event. They waited impatiently, hugging themselves to fight off the chill as a cold wind blew steadily across the exposed ground between the old, derelict warehouses. A voice was raised as a figure detached itself from the dark shadows. Cameras were hefted back onto shoulders and microphones raised as the reporters interrupted the various programs being networked at that moment.

Raymond Wilcott grinned as he became the center of media attention. He basked in the limelight as camera bulbs flashed and reporters crowded each other to get a clearer view of the kidnapper.

Carlisle stepped from between the throng of police and reporters to face his adversary. "Where's Carl?"

"Uh uh. Not until you tell them the truth."

Carlisle gritted his teeth and turned to face the excited crowd of reporters. He unfolded a piece of paper.

"I have a statement to make. I am not the author of the award winning book, Puzzles. I stole both the idea and the manuscript from this man - Raymond Wilcott. I am a liar and a cheat. I apologize for my actions and wish to make amends by handing this statuette over to its rightful owner."

Carlisle took the gold-plated figurine from John Reynold and held it out to Wilcott who grabbed it eagerly.

"Now where's Carl?"

"You don't get it, do you? He's mine, just as this is mine. You stole it from me. You stole everything but now I've got it all back. My book, my prize... My lover."

Carlisle's eyes hardened as his mind conjured up images of his lover being held by this man.

"Don't you touch him. You can have it all - everything I own. The book, the award. You can even take my name - but don't you touch him."

Wilcott laughed and backed away, reveling in the power he had over the other man. He whispered so only Carlisle could hear his words.

"Too late."

Carlisle leaped forward, eyes blazing in frustration and fury only to find his path blocked by John Reynold and Mark Nelson. He pushed against their restraining arms as Wilcott disappeared back into the shadows and yelled after the retreating figure.

"You bastard!"

When Wilcott returned to the reconstructed apartment in the abandoned warehouse he rewound the tape that he had left recording in the video and replayed the newsflash over and over as he hugged the statuette close to his body. After the fifth time through, he rose to his feet and entered the bedroom. Wilcott ignored the hatred in the deep brown eyes and held up the statuette in triumph.

"Now it's all mine."

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the building and Wilcott dropped the statuette in shock. As the figure hit the floor the base fell away and Wilcott cursed in anger when he spotted the tracer-bug. He turned to his captive and his eyes darkened in anger as he recognized the mocking grin that spread across the pale, drawn features. The grin faded as Wilcott reached into his inside pocket and extracted a small revolver. Light bounced off the clean, shiny barrel as he approached the defenseless man.

"Police. Hold it right there."

Wilcott froze, the gun still tightly gripped in one hand. Behind him, Eastlet remained as still as a statue, his face seemingly carved in stone as he monitored every movement. His eyes glanced beyond Wilcott to rake across the battered figure lying beneath a thin sheet then flicked back to his target. He had practically begged to be the first one through the door and, recognizing his guilt at being the one to lose Madsen, his superiors had agreed. Eastlet didn't allow the relief of finding Madsen alive to interfere with his duty. Instead, he moved into the room to circle round the man.

"Drop the gun."

Wilcott remained frozen in place, his eyes holding Madsen's until the dark gaze moved away towards the flurry of movement behind him. Wilcott knew who it was without turning, he could tell by the way the deep brown eyes softened, a gentle smile curving the bruised mouth. Wilcott turned slowly to face Kevin Carlisle. He sneered at the journalist-turned-author then pulled the gun up into a firing position.

Wilcott's body twisted in a macabre dance as three bullets from a .32 police special ripped through his body from Eastlet's gun. He was dead before he hit the floor.

****

The news on the capture of the Orange Tag murderer barely made it to the front page of the tabloids having been totally overshadowed by the drama surrounding Carl Madsen and Kevin Carlisle. It was the information revealed by the reluctant victim under hypnosis that had pointed the finger at a quiet store keeper whose unrequited love had resulted in the deaths of too many innocent people. The only twist had been the sexual persuasion of the murderer. Everyone had assumed he was a gay in love with a straight guy but instead, he was a straight guy in love with a woman who, in her turn, was in love with another man. Mary Morgan had spurned Joseph Conway telling him she was in love with a real man and Conway had reacted by emasculating his male victims.

The mystery of the orange tag left at the scene of each murder had swiftly been unraveled. Mary Morgan had bought an orange tag to hold her apartment key and so, to Joseph Conway, the orange tag had represented the key to her door.

****

Madsen sighed as he gazed out of the side window but barely noticed the faces of the people as they flashed by. Eventually, the car drew up outside the apartment block. He stared up at the ornate stone facade and then glanced around as the car door was opened. A small smile crossed his bruised features as he gazed up at the worried face and Madsen saw relief fill the light brown eyes. Kevin supported him by the elbow as they made their way up the half a dozen steps to the entrance. The elevator ride was carried out in the same heavy silence and Kevin noticed how his lover hung back as they approached the door to their apartment. He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door inwards, his face turning back to watch the other's reaction. Kevin was not disappointed.

Dark eyes widened as they took in the different shades of paint on the walls.

"Karen once told me she redecorated her apartment in a single day. I didn't believe her then... but I do now. She and some of the guys helped me get the place back in order."

Carl wandered into each of the rooms off the hallway. Everything seemed different - and yet the same. The new paint picked up different colors from the carpets adding extra warmth. Madsen halted outside the bedroom door uncertain whether he was afraid to find the room had been returned to it's previous condition or redecorated beyond recognition. The former would be a grim reminder of Wilcott and his mistreatment in that identical room, the latter would seem like a denial of all that had happened to him. When he saw Carl's hesitation, Kevin moved forward to push open the door. He turned on the threshold and held out his hands. They were clasped none too gently as Madsen found himself pulled forward into the room.

Madsen laughed as he took in the sight of graffiti-covered walls and bare floor. The crate still stood at one end of the new bed with the portable television perched on top. The beige, flower-print curtains remained at total odds with the deep blue and white striped quilt cover but were still better than nothing. He recognized Karen's handiwork. She would have suggested they leave this room untouched and let Carl make any decisions.

Kevin allowed all the love he felt to reach out to the man in front of him and was rewarded with a breath-taking grin as Carl moved into his arms. Their mouths met in a tentative kiss and, as the passion increased, Kevin thanked whatever Gods existed that he still had the most important thing - Carl.

THE END


End file.
